


All Our Sins

by Mertiya



Series: Hackers AU [4]
Category: Thunderbolt Fantasy 東離劍遊紀 (TV)
Genre: Death Threats, Genderfluid Character, Lang is angry, Lin doesn't know how to handle worrying about his boyfriends, M/M, Multi, Past Relationship(s), Phoenix is a really creepy motherfucker sometimes, Shang is long-suffering, Stalking, Threats of Violence, Trans Character, but that isn't really the focus and doesn't come up much in this installment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-19 22:35:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19365205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mertiya/pseuds/Mertiya
Summary: An old flame from Lin's past shows up, and all of Lin's expected coping mechanisms crumble.  What is he supposed to do now that he has what all his enemies seem to think is a WEAKNESS?





	1. i see you

The music was so loud all that could be heard clearly was its drumbeat, and somebody had set up a disco ball on the roof so that it spread bright sparkling lights on all the computers. Everyone was drunk or high. It was the worst environment imaginable for coding, and Lin loved it.

Lazily, he rolled over onto his back and reached for one of the really delicious little drinks that were mostly sugar and only a _little_ alcohol, then flopped back onto his stomach and unscrewed the cap so he could get the top of the bottle into his mouth. Running his tongue over the inside, he went back to what he had been doing, which was trying to find a back door into the files the LAN party was competing for. Of course, he already had a way in consisting of the password he’d gotten from the organizers—which had really required _embarrassingly_ little in the way of blackmail—but it never hurt to keep your hand in on the coding side of hacking. Not really. Although if it looked like anyone was going to get in there before him, forget about it.

He ran his tongue around the top of the bottle, considering his options, typed a few things cursorily into the terminal, let the beat of the music flow through him. And in a few hours, when it was four am and he was even more smashed than he was now, he was going to get a text from Shāng, asking if he needed a pickup. Even better than usual, he was going to be going back to Shāng’s apartment, not his own, and falling asleep in a jumble of arms and legs, his head smashed into the back of Làng’s, smelling whatever that—that—Làng-smelling shampoo was that he used, with Shāng’s arm flung across both of them. It would be nice, Lin thought, and then caught himself with a little shock of cold. Not that it wouldn’t _also_ be nice to be able to go back to an _empty_ bedroom and play Sekiro for five hours before sleeping all of the next day. Which he could still do. If he wanted.

His phone buzzed, announcing a new email, and he glanced over automatically.

_hey fucker_

_I’m outside_

_SPK_

What. The. Fuck. Lin was suddenly much less interested in his most recent drink, and only his iron self-control stopped him from getting up very suddenly and throwing the phone across the room. He had a sudden, desperate need to put _distance_ between it and himself, which was thoroughly stupid. What he needed to do was _think_.

It might be that the email was not from Phoenix at all, in which case there was a relatively short list of people it could be—and most of them _should_ be too scared of what he could do to them to fuck with him like this. So even that scenario was potentially concerning, but not as concerning as the other two options. Phoenix had sent it, and either he was screwing with Lin, or he really was somewhere outside the—Lin looked around—basement room the LAN party was in, that was now feeling distressingly tiny. He was now unpleasantly aware that there were only two exits, and one of them was a fire exit rigged to an alarm.

It was unlikely that Phoenix would screw with Lin like that and _not_ show up—it wasn’t his M.O., and he would probably know that after the first scare, Lin would only be more cautious about any further attempts. Which meant it was best to treat this as real.

Tongue between his teeth, Lin reached over and snagged his phone again, then thought better of going through Discord, and instead reached for his computer, spoofed his IP address, and went through IRC.

 

>shang i need a pickup

 

There was an agonizingly long time before he got a response. The timestamp suggested it was only about seven minutes.

 

_> it’s fucking 1am man_

>it’s a matter of life and death im not kidding

_> ugh fine_

>come round the back, don’t get out of the car, don’t bring lang

>maybe also bring a shotgun

> _jesus christ lin what did you do now_

>old sins

> _I’ll be there in ten_

 

Thank fuck. The fire exit, then. Everyone would go out at the same time. Safety in numbers, and if Shāng didn’t get out of the car, he wouldn’t be in any danger. Important to protect the driver. Lin reached for his vape pen, then paused. Perhaps he’d be better off foregoing any further depressants. Already, the world around him seemed to be stretching and wobbling in peculiar ways, as if he were viewing it through impure glass. Instead, he gathered up his phone and the rest of his belongings, jammed them into his backpack, and tried to keep an eye out to make sure no one else had entered the room.

Ten minutes later on the nose, and his phone vibrated with a single text from Shāng.

_Outside._

 

Right. Lin swung his backpack onto his shoulder and headed for the fire exit, pushing it open and unleashing the screaming hell of the fire alarm, which was really only slightly more screaming than the room had already been. Then he ducked back inside and waited for the crowd to start moving for the door. From his vantage point, lurking slightly to one side of the door, he could see outside, to the yellow-white light of the streetlight, illuminating a single, rather battered old sedan—Shāng’s—and a figure in an open vest and jeans, wearing a rather ostentatious scarf and playing a searingly familiar melody on a _goddamn flute_. Until the moment he actually saw him, Lin had still been holding out hope that it was a stupid prank, that someone was just trying to screw with his head. But no. It was him all right.

It wasn’t so much that Phoenix was, in and of himself, such a terrifying opponent. But Lin had had at least three lines of defense in place that should have either stopped him from getting this far, or, at the very least, sent up a warning that it was an imminent danger. If none of them had—well, then he had to admit that he had entirely lost control of the situation, and that was a nauseating thought.

He let himself drift outside with the rest of the confused, drunken crowd, keeping his head down, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt up to disguise his white hair. Separating only at the last moment, he was almost at the car before he saw Phoenix’s head turn to look at him. He took the flute down from his mouth, arched an eyebrow at Lin, and gave him a smile and a little wave.

Lin threw himself into the backseat and said, “Drive. Now. And don’t go straight home.”

To his credit, Shāng pulled away from the curb and didn’t question him, but a small form unfolded itself from the front seat and said in heavily accented English, “What happened?”

“ _I told you not to bring Làng_ ,” Lin hissed angrily.

“Look, man, I’m not telling him where he can and can’t go.”

“You woke me up,” Làng said irritably, but it wasn’t clear which of them he was addressing.

“Did you at least bring a shotgun, or did you disregard all my instructions equally?”

“Well, I’m not going straight home. But you’d better be ready to explain what the fuck this is about.”

With Shāng driving, Lin knew it was harder for Làng to follow the conversation, but the musician ducked down and then held up first a taser and then a wicked-bladed kitchen knife, both of which he handed silently to Lin. So presumably he’d at least picked up on some of it. Lin decided he liked the way the taser fit into his hand.

With a still somewhat disgruntled sigh, Lin flopped into the back seat and pulled out his phone. What the _hell_ was going on? He texted Kei Gai first.

 

>what the fuckkkk did you know phoenix was out

> _darling it’s the middle of the night_

>don’t you dare darling me what the hell are you playing at

>are you forgetting I can tell your girlfriend everything

> _already did that. she forgave me <3333_

Lin stared at his phone. She what? She _what_? Even if Tan Hi had been feeling—weirdly—merciful, why the hell would Kei Gai have taken that chance? Was she bluffing? Even if she was, it didn’t really matter. If she wasn’t afraid of him letting Tan Hi in on some choice secrets about her past, then he’d lost that angle. Entirely. How. _How_?

Breath coming faster than ever, he tried another possibility. No way would that one-eyed bitch be playing him now. _He_ knew which side his bread was buttered on.

 

>what are you playing at

> _run into phoenix, have you?_

What. _What_.

 

>yeah and im seriously wondering what the hell you’re playing at, I can ruin you

> _try it punk. you have a weakness now._

Lin stared at the screen. What the actual fuck was he playing at?

 

>wtf

 

A moment later, he was staring at a picture of Shāng and Làng. Candid shot, from outside the window of Shāng’s apartment. The shades were half down, and the orange evening sunlight turned both their hair to fire—Làng’s a blazing tumult, Shāng’s the flicker of embers over coal.

> _not the best move, EG. everyone’s waiting to see how this plays out._

A muscle twitched in Lin’s jaw.

 

> _you motherfucking cunt_ , he typed to relieve his feelings, and then slammed the phone down on the seat beside him. It was bizarrely difficult to breathe.

Stop. Damage control. So everyone thought—what—he _cared_ about Shāng and Làng? Obviously he didn’t particularly want either of them dead, but he wasn’t _in l—_ pining for them either. The smartest thing, then, was just to skip town. He’d had to do it before, once or twice. He’d have to start from the ground up, but it looked like he had to do that anyway, since all of his insurance had apparently collectively gone insane.

“Lin?” Làng’s voice, rather far away.

He had a suitcase of particularly important things, including a backup laptop, at one of the local bus stations, in a locker nobody knew about. From there, he could get out of town quickly and disappear.

There was a hand on his back, rubbing in tentative, soothing circles. Lin’s gaze snapped up and he found himself staring at Làng, who had apparently clambered into the back at—some point. Without Lin noticing. God damn, he was losing it.

“Gonna go round the park and then head home,” Shāng said. “That okay?”

“Can we stop at the bus station first?” Lin asked lightly. “There’s something I need to pick up.”

“Sure thing, man, I only got dragged out of a great dream about free food,” Shāng grumbled, but he took the next right and pulled up outside one of the side entrances to the nearby bus station.

“I’ll be right back,” Lin said, leaning over to give Làng's cheek a quick kiss, and then ruffling Shāng’s hair in the front seat. His stomach felt tight, compressed, heavy, but he didn’t let it show on his face as he slipped out of the car and walked—just a little quickly; obviously they both knew he was upset—to the terminal. To the locker, where he undid the padlock with the tiny key he pulled out of the lining of his jeans. For just a moment, he knelt in front of the duffel bag, because he needed a quiet moment alone, here, in the semi-darkness of the bus station that no one else was using. His heart was still pounding—too much, _too much_ —his stomach still felt too twisted. He’d need to eat something easy; a candy bar, maybe. Wouldn’t do for him to crash before he got somewhere relatively safe.

 _Get out_ , his brain reminded him. _Get out, walk away, survive, rebuild_.

Just to be safe, he pulled out the baseball cap he had stowed in the front of the duffel bag and tucked his long white hair underneath it. He’d have to cut it or dye it; much as he loved it, it was too much of a distinguishing feature right now.

Someone cleared their throat behind him, and Lin nearly jumped out of his skin, turning with the taser still clutched in his hand.

It was Shāng, with Làng just a step behind him. “And just what do you think _you’re_ doing?” Shāng asked, one eyebrow raised.

Lin gaped at him for a heartbeat before replying, “Ah—just getting a few supplies?”

“Because that looks like a getaway bag to me,” Shāng said coolly.

“Looks can be deceptive!” Lin said brightly, though he was aware he wasn’t keeping back the edge of his fear from bleeding into his words. He sounded too manic, but he couldn’t _find_ the usual balance inside him. Something was wrong. Something was so, so wrong.

Shāng sighed and took a cautious step towards him, putting a hand out as if Lin were a particularly skittish animal. “Look, man, I don’t know exactly what’s going on here, but something is obviously wrong. And I also know you, and you have a real bad habit of not remembering that you have people who care about you.”

Lin blinked slowly, trying to stall for time. One part of his brain was screaming that this was an _asset_ , that both Shāng and Làng were willing to help and that made them _useful_ , and another part of his brain was screaming that they were the _problem_ , that he needed them gone (safely) somewhere that wasn’t _here_ because—because—

Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, _no_. He searched for words and didn’t find any. And this time it was Làng who was stepping forward, his hand closing over Lin’s. “Home,” he said softly. “Talk, yes?”

Lin sagged minutely, but somehow still managed to cover his ass. “Well, of course,” he said, now with no idea what his tone of voice sounded like. He was spinning, falling, drowning with no anchor. “I’ve got what I came for.”


	2. drowning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lin fesses up. It doesn't go well. Phoenix makes another move.

When they got back to Shāng’s apartment, Shāng immediately went to make them hot milk, which was his go-to for everything. Which was really bizarre, Lin thought exhaustedly, when you considered the rates of lactose intolerance in his and Làng's home country. He thought about asking for a White Russian instead, then thought better of it. He’d probably get a Look from one of them, and for some bizarre and unpleasant reason, Lin thought he might start crying if he got a Look.

“Okay,” Shāng said, as he pushed a steaming mug in between Lin’s hands and sat down next to him at the kitchen table. “So what is going on?”

“Ah—well.” Everything still seemed so damn far away. “I have an ex-boyfriend who is also, apparently, an ex-convict.”

“ ‘Apparently’?” Shāng said for Làng.

“I thought he was _still_ a convict. I had—precautions in place that would—that _should_ have let me know if he was…out. They failed.”

“Who _is_ this guy?” Shāng sighed. “And what did you do to make him this mad, anyway?”

Lin smiled broadly, raising his hands. “Why should you assume it was my fault? Perhaps I just have bad taste in men.”

Shāng gave him a very skeptical look. “Uh huh.” Làng frowned slightly, looking back and forth between them, but then Làng always had been a little naïve.   Lin licked his lips, trying to decide if a lie or the truth would be better. Truth, probably: it wouldn’t be that hard for anyone to find out, and if he lied now, it would be something else for Phoenix to use against him.

“Well…back when I was on the, erm...darker side of the black/white hat spectrum—”

“It’s not a spectrum, man,” Shāng growled, and Lin flinched.

“Yes, well, anyway. The point is, back when things were _different_ , there was a musical competition that was hosted around here. It— _irritated_ me, as it was quite high-profile but it just so happened that it was basically pay-to-win.” There was a deepening frown on Làng’s forehead, which Lin didn’t like the look of, so he hurried on with the story. “So, in any case, I chose someone who was by no stretch of the imagination a good person who wanted a musical career, told him I would help him, and then used my involvement to expose the entire thing. He went to jail for extortion and bribery, and the competition was discredited. Win-win.”

Shāng gave him another flat look. “And _you_ didn’t go to jail because…?”

Lin fluttered his eyelashes. “Obviously, I had done all this out of the goodness of my heart.” Still that same flat stare, though his hands continued to move in translation for Làng. “And—ah—I may have also had some… _insurance_ in place.”

“So you seduced this guy, ruined his life, got him sent to jail, and now he’s out.”

“He was not a good person!” Lin protested. “He _isn’t_ a good person.” Làng was looking faintly sick, and something about his face compelled Lin to add, “Obviously I wouldn’t do this to someone halfway decent.”

“Obviously,” Shāng sighed.

Làng’s gaze flickered from one of them to the other, then he got up, shoving his chair out abruptly and raising his hands. He said something rapid in Chinese that Lin couldn’t make out, but the shocked disgust in his voice wasn’t hidden. Then he practically ran out of the room. Shāng scratched his chin awkwardly. “He says he needs some time. I don’t blame him.”

“I didn’t do anything that bad,” Lin whined.

“No, you kinda did,” Shāng said, meeting Lin’s eyes with his own serious, dark ones. “You may’ve done it to someone who deserved to have something bad happen to them, but the thing itself was pretty shitty.”

Lin’s throat was on fire, for no good reason. “I—I had precautions,” he said. “Neither of you should have—”

“What _kind_ of precautions?” Shāng asked dangerously, then held up a hand. “Nah, never mind, I really don’t wanna know.”

Licking dry lips, Lin stared at his hands. His nails had been manicured recently, and the thick layer of silver-and-blue polish was the only thing stopping him from jamming them into his mouth and chewing hard. “I have never targeted anyone who didn’t deserve it,” he said softly.

“Who are you to decide that?” Shāng demanded. He tipped his head back and shook it. “Ah, fuck, what a mess.”

“Are you two going to dump me?” Lin blurted. It seemed like where things were going, which Lin felt was quite unfair. After all, they could simply have _let_ him leave at the bus station, in that case, and everyone would have been in less danger.

There was quiet from the other side of the table for a long minute. “No,” Shāng said. “Well, _I’m_ not. Làng’s not as chill as I am, but I guess I’ll work it out if I end up being in the middle here. But you seriously need to start understanding that your actions have consequences, man.”

“I’ve _noticed_!” Lin’s fingers massaged at his temples. “I thought I had it under control.”

“Yeah, you keep saying that.”

“Why did you stop me?” Lin bit out. “Why did you _stop_ me from leaving, if you’re both going to—”

Shāng gave him a long, steady look. “Because we care about you, idiot, and I, at least, knew what I was getting into.”

Lin did not really know how to process this, or any of its implications. “You’ve just made it more difficult,” he said, finally. “I don’t know how to protect you both, _particularly_ if Làng doesn’t want any more to do with me. I can still leave.”

“You’re not leaving,” Shāng said steadily. “I’ll talk to Làng. We’ll work it out.”

Lin was drumming his fingers against the table. “Tell me how this is easier than me just leaving.”

“Well, for one thing, I’m not convinced this guy is going to give up on us just because you’re gone,” Shāng shrugged. “He might decide that we’d know where you were.”

And that was something Lin should have thought of, even half-drunk and still coming down from the adrenaline and vape high. He rubbed a hand across his face. He needed a _plan_ , but for once in his life, he was fresh out.

“Maybe we should call the cops,” Shāng said gently. Surprisingly gently.

“I can hardly tell you not to,” Lin said, with a sigh. Though with the way his life was spiraling out of control right now, he might be facing some very unpleasant legal consequences if the police became too highly aware of the situation. Might not, of course. He’d stayed well clear of them for several years now.

“Look, let’s just get a good night’s sleep. Your brain isn’t going to be working great right now, and mine’s still trying to boot up. I’ll make sure all the doors are locked, all right? Should be fine.”

Lin nodded, a quick, tight jerk. There was really nothing else for it. He was running on fumes, and Shāng was correct—his brain wouldn’t do much good if it didn’t get some rest—or some amphetamines, one corner of his brain commented, but it would be difficult to obtain those at this hour. He _might_ have some in his apartment, but it would be better to avoid leaving Shāng’s for the time being, probably.

“All right,” he said, with another sigh. “I’ll figure out what to do tomorrow.”

~

Lin woke up to his phone vibrating with a text. It was from Phoenix. “Trouble in paradise?” along with a snapshot of Làng, a backpack slung over one shoulder, looking murderous and shoving his way into the hotel where Ling Ya had been staying for the past while. For a long moment, Lin lay still. He usually didn’t have a hard time waking up, but today it felt like wading through molasses. Làng had gone over to stay with Ling Ya—did that mean he’d had a fight with Shāng as well? When had this happened? _How had Phoenix known before Lin?_

With more effort than he felt like it should have been, Lin resisted flinging his phone at the wall, and instead typed back,

 

>good morning, darling <3 would you like to talk

 

There was a long pause before he got a response. Good. He might actually have taken Phoenix by surprise.

 

> _Why not?_

>excellent, I’ll see you at Starbucks in half an hour, the one on the corner

 

No point pretending Phoenix wouldn’t know exactly which coffee shop he meant. And it was a busy public space where Lin would be able to get caffeine. Best if he kept as much control of the situation as he could.

He rolled out of bed. He needed to look unconcerned and put-together. The best he could hope for right now was to sell the whole situation as an inconvenience, as opposed to—whatever it actually was. He dug through his part of Shāng’s closet, found a sparkly top and a black miniskirt, and pulled them on. He hurriedly pulled his hair back into a ponytail and went casual, a little hurried, on his makeup, as if he’d been preoccupied but not terribly upset. Popping his head into the kitchen, he found Shāng drinking coffee and squinting at his laptop.

“Well, I’m off to meet up with Phoenix!” he told Shāng brightly. It was vaguely irritating at how little Shāng’s incredulous spit-take cheered him up.

“What are you _doing_ , you moron?” Shāng demanded.

“Everyone has a price,” Lin told him. “I’m going to find out what his is. I can probably—” he paused. He was low on resources right now, but it was still probably he could work _something_ out. It might, however, not be the kind of thing Shāng or Làng would approve of. Still, if it came down to it, their bodily integrity was to be preserved over their—feelings for him, whatever those might be. “I can probably find a way to price-match.” He smiled blandly at Shāng.

Shāng glared at him. “Do not dig yourself a deeper hole,” he said. “And I’m gonna come with you.”

“What? No!”

Putting his coffee cup down with a loud slam, Shāng stood up, and suddenly Lin was aware of the coiled tension riding in his upper shoulders. “Man, you’ve dug yourself into a pretty fucking deep hole here. I’m not letting you deal with it by yourself, okay?”

Lin blinked at him. “But I—” He stopped. It did impact Shāng as well, he supposed. “All right, then. If you could stay well back, though, I would prefer it.”

He got a grunt at that, which might have been agreement. Lin chose to treat it as such, and simply headed for the door after dumping his wallet and keys into one of the handbags he kept around for when he was dressed like this.

They walked to Starbucks in silence, and Shāng took up a spot at one of the rickety little tables outside. “Get me a chai, will you?” he asked. “Iced, probably, if you’re gonna be in there long.”

“Of course, darling.” Lin actually hadn’t meant to, but he leaned over and pressed his lips quickly to Shāng’s cheek.

Phoenix was waiting for him inside, sprawled back against one of the nice brown leather couches and sipping from a to-go cup. Lin gave him a bright little wave, ignoring the way his stomach clenched up again, and went to order. He’d get Shāng’s chai later. For now, he just got himself a venti chocolate mint chip frappucino and headed back, deliberately choosing to sit beside Phoenix but just far enough that he would have to move to be able to physically touch him.

“Good morning!” he chirped, and Phoenix gave him a lazy smile that Lin really, really did not like the look of.

“Have a good night last night?” Phoenix asked, and he slid across the couch until their thighs were touching.

“Well, I admit I was a bit surprised to find out that you were in town.” Lin put a careful hand on Phoenix’s muscled arm.

“I’ll bet,” Phoenix said, grinning slowly. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

He wasn’t giving Lin anything, and Lin didn’t like it. “When we last parted, I’m afraid you were a bit angry at me,” Lin told him. “I feel as if I should make that up to you.”

“Oh, no,” Phoenix said, and now he was showing even more teeth, a shark slowly circling a seal in the frozen Arctic waters. “I’m perfectly happy now.”

“Surely there must be something I can do?” Lin said delicately, automatically twitching at his skirt. He wasn’t going to think too hard about what Shāng and Làng would think about it if he just gave up and seduced Phoenix again. If it was the easiest way out of this mess, he would take it.

“Hmmm.” Phoenix leaned across him; Lin fluttered his eyelashes and let his breathing increase a little. Phoenix’s hand clenched around Lin’s wrist, and he loomed above him, his long hair dangling onto Lin’s chest. “I’m very happy with the way things are,” he murmured, hot breath in Lin’s ear. “I’m going to take everything you love, Lin. I’m going to break you. And I want you to know that there is nothing you can do to stop me.”

Lin dropped the seductive persona. “You’ll regret it if you try,” he said. “Everyone has a price, Phoenix. I’ll pay yours, if you want. But if you back me into a corner, you won’t like the results, I promise you.”

Phoenix’s free hand played across Lin’s throat and his cheek, and before Lin could react, he’d pulled him into a deep, vicious kiss, his tongue forcing itself between Lin’s lips, both hands holding Lin still. Well, Lin thought, let him. It was a power-play, and he might as well let think Phoenix he’d won it completely. He contented himself with struggling weakly, just enough that it seemed like he was actually resisting.

“Oi!” And Phoenix was being pulled away from Lin. “Okay, that’s enough. Leave him alone.”

 _Fuck_. Lin glared daggers at Shāng as he dragged Phoenix backwards. Phoenix’s smile widened, and he got up. “You really _do_ have something to lose, don’t you, Lin?” he asked. “Catch.” He tossed his cup at Lin, and Lin automatically caught it, but he’d loosened the cap, and hot coffee splashed across the front of his top and skirt. Lin winced, but it wasn’t the sudden heat-shock that had drawn that out of him. It was the hungry, eager look Phoenix gave Shāng as he sauntered out of the Starbucks.

“Are you okay?” Shāng asked him solicitously, grabbing a bunch of paper napkins and trying to mop up the mess of Lin’s front.

“You should not have done that,” Lin sighed. “I had it under control.”

“Yeah, you really looked like you did,” Shāng grumbled at him.

“I did,” Lin snarled. “I was trying to make him think I was vulnerable _there_ instead of—” he cut himself off. “Fuck.”

Shāng paused for a moment, then sat down beside him and actually put a hand on his back. “Then maybe next time let me in on your clever plan,” he said. “Yeah?”

“I—I don’t…” Lin trailed off. How was he supposed to let someone else _in_ on his calculations? It was an alien and rather terrifying concept.

“Maybe try? I am dealing with a lot of shit on your account, you know,” Shāng said, in what was only a vaguely chiding tone of voice.

 _It would be easier if you left_ , Lin thought, because then he wouldn’t be in danger any more, and whatever handle Phoenix thought he had would collapse. Maybe. For the first time, Lin wondered what would happen if Shāng and Làng dumped him and Phoenix still decided to go after them. He didn’t like that thought. He didn’t like it at all. And he wasn’t at all certain that Phoenix wouldn’t. “Yeah, okay,” he conceded, in a small voice that didn’t sound like him at all.


	3. clash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Phoenix makes a significantly deadlier move.

For the next few weeks, Phoenix didn’t actually try anything more than sending coy little texts with pictures of Làng and Shāng attached. Shāng tried to convince Lin to get a restraining order. Lin wasn’t sure he wanted to force Phoenix’s hand. Làng would be safe enough with Ling Ya—that hotel room was like a fortress when Làng’s bodyguard wanted it to be, but Lin couldn’t stop thinking about Shāng. He didn’t think he was showing it—it was important that he not show it, but Phoenix was definitely succeeding at getting into his head. Would he leave when he’d had enough? There was the possibility he wouldn’t want to run the risk of getting into more legal trouble, but he had Lin virtually cornered and despite his words in the coffee shop, he was having trouble figuring out how to get himself out.

Work wasn’t exactly going well, either. Lin mostly did contract work, and generally he did them in short bursts at forty-eight hours or so a stretch and then took a break for three days, but right now everything was stretching long because he couldn’t focus. Every time he started to get into a rhythm, he’d get a text from Phoenix. Half the time when he was trying to sleep he got texts from Phoenix. He needed to figure out a way out of this mess but the more he got knocked off balance, the less he could focus. Shāng was starting to get snappy, too, spending more and more time with Làng—which, Lin reminded himself, could be useful in the long run, but then again, it might not be. He felt his mind running around and around in a hamster wheel. Maybe at this point he really did owe it to Shāng to go to the police.

His phone vibrated again. Lin growled, dragging it across the desk towards him.

 

> _Your new boyfriend is quite gullible_

Phoenix had also sent, in quick succession, a picture of the alley outside their apartment where Lin and Shāng used to meet up when they were working together on their first case, a heavy-looking baseball bat, and then a picture of Shāng heading towards him. Oh, shit. Oh, _shit_.

He grabbed the taser Làng had given him, sent a quick text to Làng himself— _we need backup, alley outside my apartment_ —as insurance, shoved phone and taser into his pocket, and ran for the door. Halfway out, he realized he should try to text Shāng as well, just in case he was fast enough.

>Shāng pls don’t go in alley

He made it to the entrance to the alleyway in time to hear the heavy thunk of wood on flesh, to hear Shāng’s voice giving out a pained grunt, and to see him staggering away backwards from Phoenix, who was wielding the bat with a wide smile on his face.

“Shit,” Shāng spat out, taking a stiff, slightly lopsided self-defense stance.

“Phoenix!” Lin yelled, aiming the taser. His hand was shaking. His aim was all over the place. How the hell was he supposed to fire this thing?

“Glad you could make it,” Phoenix said cheerfully, swinging the bat again. Shāng stumbled backwards, this time barely avoiding the blow, but now he had his back against the wall and nowhere else to go. He flung up his hands to protect his face.

“I will fucking shoot you!” Lin screamed. He barely recognized the sound of his own voice. Phoenix’s smile only got wider as he swung the bat in a new arc, and Shāng hissed in pain as it crashed home, knocking his hand to the side. Lin tried to aim the taser again, but his hands were shaking too much to be certain he wouldn’t shoot Shāng instead of Phoenix.

“Regretting your caffeine intake yet, Lin?” Phoenix asked in amusement. _Crack!_ One of Shāng’s arms went limp. Desperate, Lin squeezed the trigger despite himself; the taser flared with crackling electricity, and the electrodes went past Phoenix’s ear. He laughed. Lin swore. “God, this has been a long time coming,” Phoenix told him. Shāng took a clumsy step forward and swung a fist at Phoenix’s face. It connected—lightly—but it knocked Phoenix back a pace. Shāng grimaced, but at least his arm wasn’t broken. Yet.

“Let’s talk about this,” Lin tried, falling back on his usual M.O.

“No,” Phoenix said. Shāng was breathing hard, his face twisted up in pain. Phoenix raised the bat again; Lin put out a hand as if he could stop it that way. Phoenix’s face was brilliant, eager, alight with something like joy, and he was going to—Shāng was going to—

A red blur shot past Lin, dodged the bat, and ran full-tilt into Phoenix, who staggered backwards, blood suddenly lining a gash on the arm that hadn’t been there a moment ago. “What the—”

Làng dodged neatly to the side as Phoenix tried to hit him, keeping so close to him that he couldn’t effectively use the bat. He had a—was that a _kitchen knife_ —in one hand? Lin tried to pick his jaw up off the floor, but he was having a hard time paying attention to it. Làng was practically dancing, weaving from one spot to another in light little fluid motions and occasionally darting in, like a bird worrying at a lion.

As insane as it seemed, he was actually _winning_. Rent after rip appeared in Phoenix’s clothing, usually with the ends of the ragged cloth tinged deep red. Phoenix tried twisted from side to the other, but he simply wasn’t fast enough to keep up with Làng’s graceful motions. But—Lin’s heart was still in his mouth, because Phoenix was nearly twice Làng’s size. If Làng made one misstep, wavered even a little, he would be going down hard.

Even as he thought that, Phoenix twisted round, jabbing his elbow sharply backwards, and there was a thudding noise followed by the _oof_ of air leaving Làng’s lungs. He staggered back slightly, one hand pressed across his chest, and before Lin could even react, Phoenix raised the bat and brought it down hard.

_Thunkclang._ The noise of the bat being intercepted merged with the ringing noise of wood on metal, and Lin stared in disbelief. Despite the hard blow and the fact he was still wheezing slightly, Làng had brought the knife up in time to intercept Phoenix’s swing. For an instant they were poised, one against the other; then Phoenix began to force the bat down—and Làng slipped to the side and let it fall to the ground, then put a foot down on it and jerked it out of Phoenix’s grip, before transferring the knife to his left hand and scooping the bat up with his right, all in one fluid motion. Before Phoenix could respond, he continued the motion, swinging the bat as hard as he could.

There was a very nasty, final clunking noise as it caught Phoenix in the temple, and he crumpled, first to his knees, then slowly onto his side on the ground, eyes still open but dazed, one of the pupils visibly larger than the other.

Làng kicked Phoenix’s bat contemptuously aside; it rolled along the asphalt and made a sad little wooden clunking noise when it dropped into the gutter. Lin stared at him, and Làng glanced back, breathing hard, the knife still clenched tight in his fist.

“Holy shit,” Lin said. Vaguely, he noticed he was hard in his tight jeans.

Làng’s glance moved to him, and for some reason his throat closed up, even though his jeans felt even tighter. The musician’s gaze went straight through him before he turned to Shāng and said something soft in Chinese, stretching out a hand. “Are you okay?” maybe. Lin’s stomach turned into a knot, even though, of course—that made sense. He’d come back for Shāng, not for Lin. Good. Lin’s calculations had not been wrong. Presumably the stomachache was just because it had been a long, stressful few days.

Lin watched Làng’s body relax as he moved across the street to Shāng, his fingers reaching up to brush the other man’s cheek gently. Lin looked away for some reason, probably because he had just realized he needed to check on Phoenix, who had a bad habit of not staying down when by all rights he should be staying down.

In fact, Phoenix had not stayed down. Instead, he had pulled out a gun from apparently nowhere, and it was pointed directly at Làng’s back. Despite the apparent concussion and the blood streaming down his chest from multiple knife cuts, he smirked at Lin, then mouthed, “Say goodbye.”

Lin never knew, later, what thoughts actually went through his head at the moment he realized what was going on. It was usually a point of pride for him to think things through, even for split-second decisions, one statement flowing to the next in an elegant logical progression. Either he had some sort of traumatic amnesia, or that simply didn’t happen, because all he knew was that one moment, he was static and staring, and the next he had his arms round Làng’s shoulders, his warning shout hanging in the air somewhere behind him.

There was a strange, momentary pause, as if the universe was holding its breath, enough time for Lin’s brain to process the violently loud sound of the shot and for someone to punch him hard in the back, and then, without a beat, he was on the ground, sprawled across Làng, and Shāng was shouting—halfway across the alley now, all of a sudden—running, tackling Phoenix.

“Fuck,” Lin panted. “Làng. You okay?”

Slightly shaky nod. Làng sat up, brushing off his coat, and gave Lin a surprised, guarded smile. “Thanks,” he said uncertainly.

“We really need to call the fucking cops,” Shāng said, from across the way. “We need to tell—Lin— _Lin_ —”

“What?” Lin said, or tried to say, which was when he realized there was something very wrong with his breathing. It felt as if someone had shoved an iron bar through his chest, and he doubled over, struggling for his next breath. Làng was saying something, but it was really remarkably difficult to parse it, suddenly. What the hell was going on?

Shāng’s voice was calling something in rapid Chinese, and Làng’s face was going pale. “Around,” he said, in bad English. “Around, around.” Lin didn’t know what he meant. “Hold still,” Làng finally blurted, and his hands went to the hem of Lin’s t-shirt, dragging it up and over his head. One hand traced down Lin’s front briefly, and then he was scooting around to Lin’s back. He said something sharp and horrified in Chinese, and then, suddenly, something was pressing against Lin’s back, and it was _fucking_ agonizing.

Lin yelled and tried to jerk away, but the world swayed dizzily. Làng had an arm across his front, holding him in place, murmuring something soft and soothing in his ear. What was happening? What was—everything seemed so distant, and his breath seemed to whistle in his chest. Things were dimming round the edges, blurry and indistinct, and then Lin heard Shāng’s voice, oddly clear. “My friend’s been shot,” he was saying to someone Lin couldn’t see. “My friend’s been shot.”


	4. reconciliation

By the time the ambulance got there, Lin was unconscious—Shāng wasn’t sure if it was pain or shock, but at least he was still breathing, harsh and shallow. There was blood seeping through the shirt Làng had pressed against his injury, blood smearing the tips of Làng’s fingers, almost like the bright red nail polish he often wore. No, not really, but it was easy to see that, if he squinted, if he didn’t think too hard.

The police cars got there at the same time and took Phoenix away. He’d—stopped struggling as soon as the first shot was fired, even before Shāng had tackled him, just staring and staring at Lin’s limp form cradled in Làng’s arms.

By some miracle, the EMTs let Shāng and Làng go with them; Làng had clutched his hand, nails digging in hard enough to draw blood, when they had inserted a needle into Lin’s chest. The ugly hiss of air had at least been accompanied by a slight ease in Lin’s breathing, but it was barely perceptible. Shāng held Làng, the two of them silent and pressed closely together as the EMTs worked.

Lin was taken into the ICU immediately when they got to the hospital. Làng leaned against a wall and played with his phone angrily. Shāng just sat, vaguely thinking about meditation regimens and whether there was coding he could be doing. In the end, he mostly just stared into the middle distance, trying and kind of failing to avoid thinking about the moment he’d turned around and seen the red soaking through the back of Lin’s t-shirt. The moment he’d realized what it meant.

Because his thinking was hazy and circular, he didn’t have any idea how long it was before a rather young, round-faced nurse came out and said, “You two came in with—” she checked her clipboard. “—Mr. Lin?”

It was so weird to remember that ‘Lin’ was technically his last name; he never used anything else. “Yeah,” Shāng said, standing up and rapidly signing to Làng. “I’m his—” he looked over at Làng, who sent him a quick, _me too_ , “We’re his boyfriends.”

She gave them a smile. “He’s all right,” she said softly, and Shāng had to blink a few times and focus. “Well—ah—as all right as you can be after being shot in the back. The bullet seems to have missed anything terribly vital—it nicked a lung and cracked a rib, but he’s resting quite comfortably. The doctors had to put in a chest tube to get the pressure off his lung, but they don’t think he’s going to need surgery.”

Làng stepped forward, blinking rapidly. “It was for me,” he managed to get out in stilted English. “I don’t…it was…” Shāng put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, and then Làng was in his arms, face pressed into his chest, gasping and sobbing. Shāng let out a very long sigh, holding him close, shut his eyes for a long minute.

“Can we see him?” he asked.

“He’s sleeping,” she replied. “I think the pain was a little much. But if you just want to look in on him, yes, I’ll take you right away.”

Làng was still pretty incoherent, but Shāng nodded. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “Please.”

She led them down a neat, sterile-looking corridor, pushed open a door, and let them into a tiny room with a cot and bedside table, and there he was. Làng gave an exclamation and took a quick step forward before halting himself.

Shāng looked down at Lin’s face, always white but now with an ugly greenish tint to it. He looked weirdly innocent like this, with his eyes closed, the bandage on his chest peeping over the hospital gown. No makeup, just the worn contours of his face, just beginning to show lines on his forehead and around his mouth. His eyes were so oddly innocuous and almost angelic without their characteristic dark mascara, just the white lashes lying closed above his cheeks.

 _I should have trusted him,_ Làng signed at Shāng soberly. _I should have judged based on his current actions, not what he had done in the past._

Shāng snorted. “Nah, man,” he said. “And let’s be honest, he’d’ve told you the same thing.”

That drew a small smile from Làng’s lips, but his eyes were still wet, his hands still trembling a little. Shāng’s probably were too, come to think of it.

 _Asshole,_ Làng signed, then fiercely wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

 _Yeah,_ Shāng agreed.

 _I’m going to kill him when he wakes up_.

_Yeah._

~

Lin clawed his way back to consciousness from a dream of Shāng lying bloody and still on the snow in the center of a dark glade, sitting up with a gasp and a groan. Pain shot through his back and chest.

“My, my,” said a familiar female voice. “You are certainly not looking your best, darling.”

“The fuck?” Lin managed. “Kei Gai?”

She was sitting in a chair by his bed, one leg crossed over the other. “My girlfriend told me when you were admitted,” she said with a smile. “She helped the doctor put that tube into your chest. Aren’t you the lucky one?”

What was she doing—here? Where was here? Lin squinted around, sniffed delicately at the pervasive smell of disinfectant and looked down at the thin sheet and the equally thin gown he was wearing. Hospital. The last thing he remembered was pain and confusion, after he had entirely taken leave of his senses and practically thrown himself in front of a bullet for Làng. No—not practically, given his recollections and the current state of affairs. He had actually taken a bullet for the other man.

 _Is Làng all right?_ he wanted to ask, because frankly it would be utterly stupid for him to be _shot_ and in _pain_ if he hadn’t even managed to protect his ex-boyfriend from Phoenix, but Kei Gai wasn’t the person to ask. He couldn’t display something she might take as vulnerability in front of her. So he just winced slightly and raised an eyebrow. “I suppose I am lucky,” he said flatly, sounding bored.

She laughed and fluttered the end of her scarf at him. “Oh, don’t worry about me, darling. I told your two boyfriends I’d let them know when you woke up. The big one wanted to make sure the little one got some sleep, and last I checked they were both snoring on top of each other in the waiting room. Adorable.”

 _Boyfriends_. Why was there suddenly a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach? Lin had no damn idea what was going on inside his head these days, and he did not approve of it. And the reference to boyfriends still didn’t explain what Kei Gai thought she was doing here.

“So suspicious,” she trilled, getting to her feet and breezing over to the bed. “If you leave me alone, I’ll leave you alone in the future.”

“Why?” Lin said, his voice coming out quite hoarse.

“Call it sentiment, maybe. You were very…heroic. Tan Hi was beside herself.”

Lin glared at her. “I was not— _heroic_.”

“Or maybe I just think the entire situation is absolutely hilarious and doing anything to you would ruin my fun.” She bent and kissed him on the cheek. “What a self-sacrificing man you are, Lin. What a _noble_ boyfriend.”

Lin stared mutely at her as she gave him a graceful little wave and headed out of the room. He ought to milk this for all it was worth, but that gave him a peculiar, terrified feeling, because if he admitted—then—

He was somewhat successfully rejecting the urge to hide under the pillow when Shāng and Làng burst into the room and he was subjected to an excited torrent of Chinese from Làng, who didn’t quite pin him to the bed but got really extremely close to it.

“He says he’s sorry he doubted you,” Shāng said, rubbing his chin with amusement and then pausing beside the bed to take Lin’s hand and kiss the palm of it. “I keep telling him he shouldn’t be sorry at all. You’re still a jerk.”

Lin had to process this for a minute, looking from one of them to the other, then finally finding what he hoped was the right way to respond. “Of course he should be sorry,” he said, in a gentle tone of voice. “What kind of person doubts their boyfriend’s character based on one minor incident in his past?”

Leaning forward, taking what was apparently far more care than Lin was entirely sure he was comfortable with, Làng kissed his cheek and then trailed his lips across Lin’s ear. Lin was suddenly, forcibly, reminded of the way he’d stood after beating Phoenix within an inch of his life, that long sharp knife still tucked into his fist. There was no hiding an erection under two millimeters of cotton, so Lin promptly tipped his head back and moaned loudly.

“He says he knows exactly what you’re doing,” Shāng said, still sounding amused, though his face was drawn, a little haggard, and he looked even more tired than he usually did. Làng, very unfairly, Lin thought, ran the tips of his fingers over Lin's lap before pulling back.

“Get well soon,” Làng told him in stilted English.


	5. homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lin comes home and things (maybe?) get back to normal.

They brought Lin home six days after the showdown in the alley, once he’d healed enough that the doctor could safely remove the tube from his chest. It was strange, Làng thought, as Shāng helped a grumbling Lin out of the car, how much _balance_ had been restored in his head. Lin was neither villain nor hero, though he had apparently run the gamut of possible states over the past few weeks, but it all averaged out to the same Lin Làng had thought he knew and then been afraid he—didn’t.

“I want a _shower_ ,” Lin was whining.

“Well, you can’t have one,” Shāng told him. “You know the doctor said you can’t risk getting the injury wet for a few more days. Sponge bath for you.”

Lin pulled a very sad face. “Bathe me?” he said, fluttering his eyelashes at the two of them.

“You can wash yourself,” Shāng said shortly.

Pouting again, Lin looked appealingly at Làng. “I was _shot_ ,” he said mournfully.

“And whose fault was that?” Shāng asked him. “If you hadn’t decided to fuck around with that guy in the first place, none of this would have happened.” They had reached the stairs up to Shāng’s apartment, and Lin made a very soft, pained noise as he took the first step, crossing one arm over his chest. Làng slipped a shoulder under his arm and got a grateful look in return, though it was entirely possible Lin was just playing him.

“I don’t think I deserved to be shot,” Lin whined as Làng and Shāng both helped him up the steps.   “Even if I was stupid, which I am not certain I agree with. My insurance should have—”

“Shut it,” Shāng told him. “How many times have I told you that you can’t just blackmail people into watching your back?”

“Well, it worked just fine until—” Lin’s eyes flickered to Làng, and he subsided. “In any case, I don’t see that I deserved to be shot for it.”

Shāng shot Làng a look, and Làng’s lips quirked slightly as he signed something that Lin couldn’t see, waiting to see how Shāng would deliver this one. “Well, Làng says he _is_ grateful,” Shāng said, in a flat voice that was probably trying not to laugh.

“As he should—wait. Why?”

“For nearly dying for him. Showing how much you care about him.”

“Neither of you would ever have forgiven me if I had let Phoenix shoot Làng. It was the obvious response.”

“If you died, you are dead,” Làng pointed out. “Doesn't matter.”

Shāng shoved the door of his apartment open as Lin turned with a glare towards Làng. “You’ll notice I am _not_ dead,” he said.

“Glad you care,” Làng told him, in his most sincere voice, and he leaned up on his tiptoes to kiss Lin’s cheek. Lin made an angry hissing noise, like a particularly ruffled goose.

“I want a _shower_ ,” he announced again.

“I bathe you?” Làng suggested.

“Oh, don’t coddle him,” Shāng groaned, ushering them into the apartment, but Lin was already smiling in a way Làng knew he wasn’t going to be able to resist.

“That would be lovely,” Lin said, sounding remarkably sincere. Shāng sighed long-sufferingly, but he helped Làng help Lin into the bathroom. Lin promptly started stripping, peeling the t-shirt and jeans off slowly. He started to gyrate his hips, but it was ruined by the fact that he had to pause and hiss in pain when he hit a bad angle.

“Dumb,” Làng told him with a sigh, checking the bandage on his back. They’d put on a fresh one before he was discharged, and fortunately the injury didn’t seem to be bleeding again. Lin put on a sulky face, but he was a little pale. He didn’t object when Làng helped seat him in the tub and went to find a sponge, while Shāng hovered awkwardly nearby, clearly a little worried and just as clearly not sure how much he wanted to show the worry in front of Lin.

“Take off your clothes,” Lin told Làng immediately when he got back. Shāng pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. Làng simply gave him a level look, toed off his socks, and got into the tub behind him. Brushing Lin’s hair carefully out of the way, he began to scrub his shoulders and then his neck. Lin being Lin, he promptly started making obscene noises.

It took a little work, but Làng counted it as a definite victory when he stopped moaning, when his head nodded forward a little, when he gasped and made that particular soft little whimpering noise that Làng wasn’t even sure he was fully aware of. He had his arms curled around the fronts of his knees.

Làng couldn’t stop himself from pausing as the sponge got close to the edge of the bandage. Very lightly, he ran his fingers across the top—not near enough to disturb the injury itself, but enough that he could feel the soft fibers that were helping Lin’s body to heal. Then, with a sudden strange fear pushing him, he laid a hand over Lin’s chest, feeling the steady drumbeat of his heart pushing the blood securely through his veins.

Lin shook himself in apparent irritation. “I’m fine,” he said. “Why aren’t you still cleaning me?”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Làng went back to soaping him down, careful and slow. As soon as he’d finished with the non-bandaged parts of Lin’s chest, he wet the sponge again and began to run it very slowly down the insides of Lin’s thighs. Lin gave a throaty, breathless gasp and let his head fall back against Làng’s shoulder, looking up at him seductively from underneath hooded lashes. “If you jerk me off, I’ll suck you,” he purred in a voice that sounded far too sophisticated and ethereal for the vocabularly he was using.

“Oi,” said Shāng. “Do you really think you’re well enough for sex, Lin?”

Lin made a moue at him. “I’m _fine_ , darling.” Làng looked from one of them to the other, but simply kept on soaping down Lin, trusting he wouldn’t be able to do much in the way of writhing or wriggling because of the pain of his injuries.

What he _was_ able to do, of course, was complain, and somehow he still retained his ability to pose seductively. Làng’s cheeks were growing very warm by the time he’d started rinsing Lin off, but he really wasn’t sure if he’d end up hurting Lin more if he started jerking him off, and he was also still a little frustrated with him and his poor handling of, if not the current situation, the previous one. He could suffer a bit.

Lin clearly did not agree, as his complaints were getting louder as Làng finished up by sliding the wet sponge down his ankles. “I am hard as a rock,” he whined. “I’ve been stuck in the hospital for practically a _week_.”

“A whole week? You’re definitely going to die from sex withdrawal then,” Shāng deadpanned.

“You’ve probably been fucking each other like rabbits with me out of your hair,” Lin grumbled, and Làng smacked him—gently, but in irritation.

“We spent most of the week in the hospital, _with you_ ,” Shāng bit out. Lin made a soft whining noise again, but subsided and let the two of them help him carefully out of the bath and dry him off. To Làng’s surprise, he was actually rather quiet and helpful as they tucked him into an oversized hackathon shirt and bundled him into bed. He did whine for Làng to get him his phone, but he was asleep by the time Làng came back with it. Shāng rolled his eyes and muttered about coddling him again, but he also spent most of the evening in and out of the room, presumably checking on Lin.

“Come to bed,” Làng told him. “You are going to need the rest before he gets to the point where he’s _really_ annoying.”

~

“ _Fuck_ —ow— _Christ_!”

Shāng opened his eyes onto bright golden sunshine turning Làng’s hair to red fire, but he didn’t have time to appreciate it, because he was already rolling out of bed at the sound of Lin’s voice in pain. The room was somehow still blurry, but he managed to get a hand on the pocket knife he’d left next to the bed the night before, and he was staggering out into the main room before he had anything more in his head than the cold of the blade in the palm of his hand.

The television was on, and Lin was sitting on the couch, his shoulders tense, slamming his hand down against the inoffensive pillows. On the TV was a large red kanji and underneath it, in smaller English letters, “DEATH.” Shāng stared for a long minute, then sighed very hard.

“Why are you playing Sekiro?” he asked, long-sufferingly.

Lin tried to do his usual trick of flopping over backwards, whined with pain, and turned around stiffly instead. “I haven’t been able to play Sekiro in like two weeks,” he retorted. “What else was I going to do?”

“Stay in bed?” Shāng suggested grumpily, but he wandered over to the couch, put the pocketknife onto the coffee table, and sat down beside Lin.

“Boring,” Lin sighed, leaning sideways against Shāng. Carefully, Shāng ran a hand through the long white hair, then scratched Lin’s head. Lin made a soft purring noise and butted gently against his hand. Before Shāng actually really knew what he was doing, he was leaning forward, tipping Lin’s chin up, and kissing him hard and bruising on the lips. Lin made a pleased little noise and proceeded to make himself feel incredibly soft against Shāng’s front.

“Do you have any idea how worried I was,” Shāng breathed as he finally pulled back.

“Too worried,” Lin told him, with an irritating calm he hadn’t demonstrated since Phoenix first appeared. He flicked Shāng’s nose gently. “I had everything under control.”

“You had absolutely nothing under control,” Shāng retorted sternly.

“Mmm…close enough.” Lin nibbled on his ear.

A loud, sleepy yawn heralded Làng’s arrival. He sat down beside both of them, hooked the PS4 controller with his pinky, and pulled it into his lap. On screen, Wolf started guardedly tiptoeing through thick, eerie fog.

“Hey,” Lin protested. Làng just gave him a steady look, then had Wolf jump lightly down into a dark forest. “ _Hey_ ,” Lin said. “You’re going to get me killed!” Làng punched him in the shoulder, quite hard.

“We were both worried,” Shāng said irritably.

“I had everything under control!”

“Nope,” Shāng said as Làng said, “NO,” loudly. Then he pushed the controller away to the side, and snuggled into Lin’s side.

“Anyway, I talked with a buddy at the police station, and it sounds like Phoenix is going to be facing pretty serious charges, so at least he’s not likely to be a problem again too soon,” Shāng said, kissing the top of Lin’s head.

“You have a buddy at the police station?” Lin asked.

“Unlike you, I know how to make friends without blackmail.”

“Excuse you, I am _perfectly_ capable of making friends,” Lin said. “You two, for example.”

“Glad you’re finally admitting it,” Shāng grumbled, and Làng put his head on Lin’s shoulder. Shāng was thankfully bending down to kiss Lin as he did it, and he had the rare pleasure of seeing something like genuine surprise and tenderness flit momentarily across Lin’s face.

~

In truth, Lin had woken that morning with his back and ribs aching quite badly. Too restless to stay in his room, he’d trudged out into the main room and started playing Sekiro mostly out of habit. The death had more to do with the fact that some of his usual motions were a little more painful than he was expecting than with him being rusty or anything like that. So to an extent he was relieved when Shāng appeared to interrupt him, even if he still felt a little peculiar—which was presumably due to the fact that he had been _shot_ ; of course he wasn’t going to feel perfectly normal just yet.

He hadn’t really expected to end up in the center of a cuddle pile, but he wasn’t at all certain he minded. The warmth was delightful, and it soothed several of the sore, still-healing muscles. And he felt all— _gooey_ —inside, like one of those half-liquid truffles inside a chocolate shell. Phoenix was gone. Shāng and Làng were really _safe_.

And he hadn’t done any of it the way he normally did, which suggested it was probably time for him to revisit some of his typical strategies. Perhaps Shāng did have a point about his tendency to befriend people, although Lin wasn’t certain he felt comfortable completely modifying his entire approach. Nonetheless, this was something to be attempted at a later date, when he wasn’t still trying to heal.

He was still a little afraid that Làng would leave again, which would be inconvenient, put stress on Shāng, and potentially be a stressor on the relationships between him and Shāng and Shāng and Làng as well. Plus it would be difficult to protect Làng if he kept leaving, Lin thought, although he was aware his thinking on this point seemed to be a _little_ fuzzy. In any case, the point was that he needed to give Làng a reason not to leave, and there was definitely no harm in giving Shāng a similar reason, so he turned to Shāng and said, in soft and rapid English, “How do you say ‘I love you’ in Chinese?”

Shāng blinked at him for a long moment, and then Lin saw a slow smile spread across his face. “我爱你,” he said softly, brushing a lock of Lin’s hair behind his ear.

“Wo ai ni,” Lin repeated, although he was fairly sure his pronunciation was terribly off. Then he turned quickly to Làng and gabbled it out to him as well. Làng stared at him, and then sank both hands into Lin’s hair and yanked his head down into another desperate kiss that didn’t last for nearly long enough—Lin had barely managed to suck Làng’s tongue into his mouth when the other man pulled back and gabbled something rapid and tender.

“He says he loves you, too,” Shāng explained, and then pulled both of them into a bear hug. “And of course I love you both.”

Lin settled into the soft warmth of both of them beside him. He would need a plan to reinstate some measure of control over his life, of course. At some point. But for now, maybe he could just cuddle his boyfriends. The warmth really was pleasant. And he was still recovering. Yes, a little break couldn’t hurt.


End file.
